Page 87 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

“It could all be the work of fancy,” Lizzy insisted to herself. “I have not been myself. And as strange a coincidence as this may all seem, there could be a simple explanation for how my handkerchief should come to be the twin of Miss Darcy’s.”

Only Abby could put her mind at ease and solve the mystery once and for all. And how providential that Abby was to come to Derbyshire and they should have the opportunity to speak in person! Lizzy immediately began to consider how she would broach the subject, but as she rehearsed the options, she began to question her friend. The latter was familiar with Mr. Darcy but had never elucidated the extent of her acquaintance. If Mr. Darcy was an instructor of hers, with knowledge of how Lizzy felt of the man at that time, how could she have paired the two of them? This thought made Lizzy cross at Abby. Even if Lizzy had not expressed dislike for the man, why would Abby have taken the chance to mix oil and vinegar? Abby was no fool. This thought calmed Lizzy. But when was she to see Abby? Abby had not specified a day. She only knew the inn that Lizzy had written to her of. Would they have the occasion to speak alone? What if Abby came to call at the inn and the Gardiners should be present? Lizzy could not beg to stay at the inn by herself all day, not knowing when she might hear from Abby. Lizzy began to pace anew.

A knock at the door startled her. “Lizzy?

“I thought I heard you up and about,” her aunt said after Lizzy had opened the door. She handed her a letter. “I thought this might be from Jane and you would wish to read it immediately.”

Lizzy looked at the letter. The address was not in her sister’s hand. If not from Jane, then it must be from Abby!

“It is not from Jane but a friend of mine who was to be in Derbyshire sometime this week,” Lizzy explained. “We had hopes that a meeting might be possible. I have not seen her in some months.”

As Lizzy did not open the letter before her, Mrs. Gardiner withdrew to allow her niece to read the letter in privacy.

Lizzy barely heard the door close before tearing open the seal. What she read made her chest constrict. Abby was not to come to Derbyshire! That news was heartily disappointing. But the next part was horrendous. In her place, Abby had prepared a fourth and final lesson.

“Your mentor, should you consent to the arrangement,” Abby had written, “is the same gentleman you learned from at Trenwith House. I have enclosed further instructions, but I shall not be in the least insulted or put out if you elect not to proceed with a fourth lesson at this time. Rather, I should be greatly distressed if you felt obligated to accept this invitation and, when we do meet, upbraid you for not holding true to your own wishes and preferences.”

Lizzy had to put the letter down and circle the room a good ten times before rereading it. This she did thrice. It was too much to digest in one day! She wanted air, but in her current state, she might call too much attention upon herself. Her aunt and uncle already seemed too interested. She fanned herself with the letter. She opened the windows and felt a little better.

How could she possibly proceed with a fourth lesson knowing that her instructor might be Mr. Darcy? Such a thought could not be entertained. She would be courting disaster of some kind, surely. Her head swam to think that he, Mr. Darcy, might have had his hands upon her body already, that his lips had claimed hers, and that…her dream…of Mr. Darcy…

“I will not think it,” she insisted, and covered her ears as if that might blot out the thoughts. “I will not think it. I will not think it.”

She had prepared herself for many different scenarios concerning Trenwith House, mostly pertaining to the event of discovery and how she would respond if such a thing occurred. Never had she considered the possibility that she would know her instructor, and that he should be, of all people, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The flutter of a bird outside made Darcy tense, for it might herald the arrival of Miss Elizabeth. He had been waiting two hours and knew she might not come at all, but if she did, it would have been worth the wait. He had identified a small cottage recently occupied by a young family, tenants of his, whom he had assisted into a larger dwelling after the birth of their second set of twins. Much of the furnishings had remained, including the bed. He had reviewed all the finishing touches himself, ensuring the bedclothes had been freshly laundered, a fire glowed in the hearth, and a table of wine and cheese set. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped the perspiration from his brow. He was attired in his customary regalia from Trenwith House, but with the warmer weather, the wig, and even his mask, was proving exceedingly uncomfortable.

The wheels of a carriage drew his attention to the window. Through the small slit in the curtains, he observed a woman alight from the vehicle. A veil shrouded most of her countenance, but he recognized her form. His heart pounded. It was Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy poured himself a glass of sherry. Some months had passed since their last lesson. Much could have happened to her views and sentiments since. He could not simply resume from where they had left off. He could have no expectations and would have to discern her mindset for himself and in only the most careful manner so as not to agitate or frighten her. He did not dare hope she wanted a resumption of her education. The chance to kiss her was too much to be wished for. Nonetheless, now that she had arrived, the prospect was there, and the blood churned in his loins. After waiting some twenty minutes, he heard a knock at the door and had to restrain himself from leaping across the room to open it.

She was dressed in a simple muslin, one that he had not seen her in before. She had not donned a wig, but most of her hair had been pinned and covered by a bonnet. His heart throbbed. She looked positively charming. Was there nothing she could wear that would diminish her loveliness? A cloth mask covered the upper half of her face. The lips, uncovered, became the focus.

Stepping back to allow her entry, he asked if she had eaten or desired a glass of wine?

“A glass of wine,” she answered.

He pulled a chair at the table for her. She sat down, but in her movements and her air, he felt her nervousness. That was to be expected. He was not immune from nerves himself, but it was necessary for him, as the mentor, to put her at ease by foremost demonstrating his. Knowing this to be his responsibility, he was able to calm himself. As he poured the wine, he felt her scrutiny upon him. He handed her a glass. She continued to stare at him as if she meant to pierce his mask with her gaze. Did she suspect him of being someone else? Had Abby not confirmed her mentor was the same?

“This is a quaint abode,” she noted.

“It is dubbed the Lilac Cottage, for the garden in back abounds with lilac bushes.”

“I thought I caught its scent.”

She took the glass of wine from him but did not drink it.

“It has been some time since our last lesson at Trenwith House,” he reassured her. “I pray you have been in good health and spirit.”

“I cannot complain,” she replied.

This was not the affirmation he had expected. He asked after her family.

“Had I mentioned my family to you before?” she asked, startling him.

He combed his memory but could not recall if she had ever referenced her family at Trenwith House.